Yosou ~Night Thought~
by Minuit
Summary: A moody Touma soliloquy taking place directly after a battle.


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Disclaimer/Author's Notes: Despite how long it's been since I've finished a YST story, I still haven't managed to acquire the rights from Sunrise or Bandai, darn the luck. ^_^() This is technically set after Saranbou attacks for the first time (when Touma and Seiji were on their way home from the city, making Seiji the unspecified Trooper), but it's vague enough that it really doesn't matter. ^_^ Oh, and of course, the Youjakai is the Japanese version of the Dynasty.

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Yosou ~Night Thought~

I suppose that when one does something often enough, it's inevitable that a routine will develop somewhere along the line. I have regaining consciousness down to a science. The headache is the first thing, of course; even if it isn't a head wound, there's always that dull, persistent throbbing distracting you from the beginnings of coherent thought. Preliminary damage assessment comes as soon as you are capable of it: How badly are you hurt? Are you dying? Do you need attention _now_, or can it wait until you know you're safe? Can you move? If not, why? Have you been captured? Logical, emotionless evaluations calculated to beat down panic. In this case, it seems I was fortunate – aside from various aches and pains and an overall feeling of being drained, it looks as though no real damage was done.

Opening the eyes is next, once you're certain that there isn't anything to be learned by playing 'possum. I've never been so grateful to see clouds over the moon – bright light always triples a headache. Then again, it does make it difficult for me to gauge how much time has passed. I'm still a little hazy, and a time frame would help immensely. When my vision adjusts to the dim light, however, the crumpled figure lying motionless a few feet away is what registers in my mind.

Equations weren't made to hold that kind of pain.

As always, I feel a quick, sharp stab of guilt at my failure to protect my comrade before it's pushed roughly away to be dealt with at a more opportune time. Right now, the problem is just getting over to him. My legs don't appear to be working quite properly, but I can't see any external damage to them. It's probably just a side effect of the demon's attack, as reassuring as _that_ is. This takes me back to calculations, though: If you can't stand up and walk to him, how can you get there?

Actually, moving my legs just that much seems to have helped restore some of the feeling. After quite a bit of rubbing them to improve circulation and several failed attempts, I can manage the short distance between us. Gladly collapsing to a sitting position next to him, I begin trying to determine how badly he's hurt. Checking his pulse allays my initial fear – it's strong and regular. Nothing seems to be broken, and there isn't any blood. He's probably simply drained, as I was. However, in the time it takes for him to recover, that demon could easily find our friends and –

I've found that there's a great deal of comfort in cool logic. The rules never change, no matter how it's applied. Turning a problem into a hypothetical situation lets me distance myself from it, allowing me to concentrate on finding a solution without my emotions clouding my judgment. If I think about how one friend is unconscious in my arms and how the others are completely oblivious to the danger they're in, then I might make the wrong choice out of haste.

Stepping back and looking at the situation, there are four people who should be warned and one who needs protection until he awakens. Although the others weren't expecting us back at any particular time, it's well after dark and they'll be worrying soon. If they were to set out to look for us without knowing that a Youjakai demon is searching for the Samurai Troopers.... The area we're in is quite isolated; if I were to put him in the car and lock it, he would in all probability be perfectly safe for the ten minutes I would be gone. I can't drive, but that's not a problem – with my armor, I could almost certainly be home and back before he even awakens. The demon is finished with us two for the moment, and it's doubtful that he'll change his mind tonight. 

The logical solution is quite obvious. Once there was a time when I wouldn't have hesitated before saying that the needs of four outweigh the need of one. 

Once there was a time when I didn't know what friendship was.

Unfortunately, there are cases in which the clinical solution simply does not work. Sighing, I settle back – this could be a long wait. I glance down at him, and my irritation at the delay slowly ebbs away. He looks so peaceful and serene right now. I don't think I've ever seen him this relaxed. Like all of us, his sleep is not really rest – it's full of twisted dreams and fears that dissipate with the sun's light, leaving only a faint unease upon awakening. I used to watch them all sleep sometimes, especially right after the battle with Arago. I'd wake up in a panic from some nameless terror, and in order to reassure myself I'd have to go and make sure that everyone was still breathing and safe. The part that disturbed me the most was that I wasn't acting illogically; though not likely, it _is_ entirely possible that something could happen to one of them while I slept. 

Just like it's entirely possible that my friend and I could be attacked by a demon on the way home and end up unconscious by the side of the road. In a world of mystical armor and shadowy creatures from other worlds, who's to say that anything is illogical?

I hate being the first one to awaken after a battle. It gives you time for reflection on topics that you'd just as soon not think about. Logic and calculations keep me sane; if I start doubting them, I'm not going to be any good to anyone. Surely even magic must follow _some_ general rule. I'd love to do a study on it someday – _that_ would certainly make an interesting thesis paper for college. I wonder if they would just throw me out or stick me in an asylum as well? They do say that many geniuses go insane, trapped in a confining world that doesn't understand....

That's another reason I hate being the first to awaken. My thoughts tend to get progressively weirder and more morbid when I don't have distractions such as Seiji's eccentricities, Shin and Shu tussling over anything that catches their attention, Ryo burning something in the kitchen, Nasuti trying her very best to keep the peace and looking so funny when she can't manage it, or Jun and Byakuen playing some silly game in the backyard. I've already forgotten how I coped by myself for so long. Of course, once whatever Youjakai demons decide to visit have been defeated, we'll all go home and I'll be on my own once more. When I consider it that way, I could almost wish that these wars would never stop. It sounds awful, doesn't it? I'd rather that we were risking our lives in a hopeless battle than face the idea that someday, when I wake up from one of those nightmares, I'm not going to be able to reassure myself that they're safe.

I shouldn't let myself think like that; it's not productive. Besides, it isn't fair to the others. They have families, they have lives, and I'm sure they want to return to that. Glancing down, I see that I've been smoothing his hair instinctively – as though he were a child, not a soldier. He really _does_ look peaceful. In fact, if I couldn't see his chest rising with each breath, I'd be afraid that he wasn't going to wake up. Sometimes I wonder if the only undisturbed sleep we're ever to be allowed is death. Admittedly, once or twice when the dull, persistent throbbing didn't diminish and hope was irrational, I thought that it might be worth it. To lay down the bow and the pain and the tears and spend eternity watching the stars craft their intricate patterns.... 

That solution, however, would not complete the equation – one of the few things that both logic and illogic agree on. My head tells me that I have to save the world; my heart tells me that I have to save _them_.

The serene look has left his face. He's beginning to regain consciousness; in a few moments he'll be going through something similar to my routine. Pain, anxiety, confusion, remorse.... I'll try to find something to say that will make him feel better, but he'll just brush it off; we'll rush home, give the report, be sent to bed, and he'll spend another restless night thinking about what he could have done differently. As will I, I suppose.

As I said, routines do tend to develop over time.

It's only logical.

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~Owari

"[Thought's] gains in heaven are what they are.  
Yet some say Love by being thrall  
And simply staying possesses all  
In several beauty that Thought fares far  
To find fused in another star."

~ Robert Frost, "Bond and Free"


End file.
